


hands protect the flames

by sundays (facebook)



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Childbirth, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mpreg, Nightmares, Pregnancy, Prostitution, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-07-29 19:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facebook/pseuds/sundays
Summary: Mark is pregnant. He's also homeless, and an omega, and he can't catch a fucking break. Then he meets an alpha named Eduardo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** hunger, mpreg, prostitution, mention of pregnancy complications which do not come to pass, implication of past rape

Mark is pregnant. 

It had happened five months ago, he'd been in heat, curled up on the sidewalk, and then there'd been an alpha— Honestly, the details are bothersome and not really worth remembering.

What _is_ worth remembering is that now he's pregnant, and if he doesn't eat, his baby will probably die. (Because malnutrition during pregnancy increases the risk of gestational anemia, hypertension, miscarriage, pre-term delivery, and fetal death; Mark has looked it up, of course he has.)

The problem is that _knowing_ it's bad to be malnourished doesn't actually make it easier to not _be_ malnourished, at least not when you're a omega with no family, no alpha, no job, and no home.

Which is, regrettably, Mark's current situation.

***

It's been his situation since he'd presented as an omega three days after his twentieth birthday.

"Your situation is quite, ah— unique," the Harvard dean of admissions had informed him, peering across the desk with interest. "As I'm sure you know, most alphas and omegas present between the ages of 12 and 15, with 99.6% presenting before age 18. Which makes _you_ quite the medical anomaly."

"Am I going to be expelled?" Mark had asked, not giving a fuck about being a medical anomaly.

"Mm. Well, you see—" The dean had cleared his throat and looked away uncomfortably. "Despite the rarity of such a late presentation, there is, er, precedent, and unfortunately— Yes, I'm afraid."

"No wait, please," Mark had said, shocked at how small his voice had sounded. "Please, I don't have anywhere to go; my parents aren't speaking to me because they're, like, insanely prejudiced, and I don't have any money; I'm here on a full scholarship; just please let me stay; there's only two years till I graduate; I swear I won't be a distraction, and I'll take suppressants—"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Zuckerberg," had been the dean's response, though he hadn't sounded sorry at all, "but there can be no exceptions. Harvard is an institute of higher learning for alphas and betas only, you understand, and has been for 368 years, and so..."

And so Harvard, age-old bastion of omega discrimination that it is, had kicked him out.

***

Back when he thought he was a beta, Mark hadn't given a fuck about omega rights. Not that he'd hated omegas or something, he just... hadn't really cared. Hadn't _known_, to be honest, how deep anti-omega sentiment went.

Hadn't known that even at colleges where omegas are allowed to attend, which are third- and fourth-tier schools in the first place, scholarships are always reserved for alphas and betas.

Or that employers for all but the most menial of jobs will reject you outright upon learning you're an omega, and that such discrimination is perfectly legal, at least in Massachusetts.

Or that there isn't a single omega-friendly homeless shelter in or around Boston, not even if you're on suppressants, which Mark hadn't had money for anyway.

So when Harvard had forced him to vacate his dorm room three days after his expulsion, Mark had landed on the streets.

***

That had been May, and now it's November, which means he's been homeless for half a year— half a fucking year of hunger and cold and perpetual exhaustion, of picking pockets and begging on corners and getting fucked here and there for a few measly bucks.

At night he sleeps wherever he can: at bus stops and on campus and in the doorways of shops, behind stores and down alleys and by grates in the sidewalk for warmth. 

In the morning he goes to a McDonald's or a Starbucks or something to use their bathroom, to shave and brush his teeth and stare at his reflection in the mirror, at his hollow cheeks and tired eyes and filthy fucking hair. And then he leaves, and it all starts over again: the endless, daily quest for food and money and warmth.

He used to tell himself it would get easier, probably, someday.

Except it hasn't.

If anything, it's probably getting worse.

Firstly because it's autumn now, which means that temperatures are dropping, and Mark has no idea what he's going to do when it gets below freezing, when it starts to snow and all he has to sleep in is a hoodie and a ratty old blanket.

And secondly because hardly anyone wants to fuck him anymore, not now that the pregnancy scent is starting to be noticeable, starting to overpower the omega pheromones that used to attract alphas. And betas might not be able to _smell_ that he's pregnant, but they can still see his baby bump, which is, apparently, a major fucking turnoff. So prostitution is largely off the table now, which leaves him three options if he wants to eat: He can beg, he can steal, or he can dig through the garbage for food.

Most days he does all three. 

Most days he still goes hungry.

***

One afternoon in late November, Mark gets lucky, and meets a burly, middle-aged beta who says he'll pay twenty dollars for a blowjob.

So Mark is on his knees in an alley, sucking the beta's cock, when he feels his baby kick for the first time.

He pauses at the sensation, presses a hand to his stomach.

"Keep going," snaps the beta, grabbing Mark's head and thrusting deeper into his mouth. 

And Mark needs the money, so he keeps going, until the beta comes down his throat and lets go of his hair. 

Mark chokes, swallows, watches as the beta zips up his pants and takes out his wallet.

He hands Mark a ten-dollar bill.

"We said twenty," Mark tells him.

The beta shrugs. "You were lazy. You put in half the work, you get paid half as much."

"Fuck you," Mark spits. "_Fuck_ you, that was a good fucking blowjob and you know it. You owe me twenty."

The beta smiles coldly. "You're getting ten dollars or nothing," he says, holding out the bill between two fingers. "Do you want this or not?"

Mark glares at him for a moment, then snatches away the money.

"That's what I thought," says the beta, giving Mark a small, unnecessary shove before turning on his heel and sauntering out of the alley.

"You fucking piece of shit," Mark calls after him, but he knows there's nothing he can do— he'd be no match for the guy in a fight, and it's not like he can go to the police.

He slumps against the alley wall, the taste of come still in his mouth, and crumples the ten-dollar bill in his hand.

Then his baby kicks again. 

And Mark begins to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loll thanks for reading. comment to make my day??


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i thought this would be only two chapters lmao

It rains that night.

Mark trudges around through the downpour, looking for somewhere to sleep, and finally ends up in an alley behind a Star Market grocery store, where he finds a large stack of collapsed cardboard boxes on the ground. They're damp from the rain, but Mark manages to unfold a few and prop them against the wall to form a sort of tunnel.

He crawls inside it and curls up by his duffel bag, trying to get comfortable, which is difficult, seeing as the ground is hard and his clothes are soaked and it's forty fucking degrees.

He lies there for a long time, shivering, listening to the rain pummel the cardboard overhead, his hands pressed between his thighs. It's so fucking cold. Too cold to sleep.

And then he smells something, something strong and warm, only slightly dulled by the wet night air— the scent of an alpha.

Fuck.

Instinctively, Mark goes very still.

"Excuse me?" calls a voice. "Is someone down there?"

Mark doesn't answer.

"I can smell you," says the voice. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

The alpha scent is growing steadily stronger, so he must be coming nearer.

Mark wonders, offhandedly, if he's about to get murdered. Oh well, he thinks bitterly, at least if he is, he won't be cold anymore.

The alpha crouches down at the mouth of Mark's makeshift shelter.

"Hey," he says, and Mark shuts his eyes. "Are you pregnant?" he asks, his voice quiet.

Mark snorts.

"I mean— I don't know why I asked; I can smell that you're pregnant. Just— Jesus, what are you doing back here?"

Mark curls up more tightly. "I'm sleeping here, obviously," he says stiffly. "And I'd appreciate it if you left me alone."

"I'm sorry," says the alpha. "I didn't mean to bother you, I was just— I wanted to make sure you weren't hurt, or something."

"I'm not hurt."

"Okay." The alpha sounds unhappy. "Are you cold?" he asks then. It's an idiotic question. Of course Mark is cold.

"I'm fine," says Mark, still shivering violently, and he feels himself blush, because— well, honestly it's fucking embarrassing, to be discovered like this, alone and wet and vulnerable in the middle of the night. It's something he doesn't think he'll ever get used to: the utter humiliation that comes with being homeless, the shame he feels when people look at him— if they look at him at all— with that patented mix of disgust and discomfort and pity, the way this alpha is no doubt looking at him right now.

"I'd like to go back to sleep, if that's okay," Mark says, firmly.

The alpha shifts. "Shit. Yeah. Okay, I'm— I'm sorry for waking you up," he says. "I'll get going then; I'm sorry. I was just— I don't know."

The alpha stands up. He seems to hesitate for a moment. Then he leaves, and his scent grows faint, and Mark starts to breathe more easily. He rests a hand on his stomach, inhales, exhales, and tries to ignore the cold and the wind and the rain.

And finally, by some fucking miracle, he manages to sleep. 

***

He wakes up to the overwhelming scent of an alpha, the same alpha as before, and shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

Mark squints at the dark form sitting at the opening of the box, and tries to get his breathing under control. It's not that he's even scared, really; this alpha doesn't seem dangerous, just a bit stupid. The problem is that waking up to the smell of an alpha brings back bad fucking memories of that night five months ago, that night when— well.

He closes his eyes. "What do you want?" he asks, as evenly as he can.

"Nothing," the alpha says quickly. "I mean, nothing bad. Look, I'm really sorry, I just— I walked all the way home but I couldn't stop thinking about you, so I had to come back."

_Oh_. Mark sighs. "If you want to fuck me you have to pay," he says.

"What? No, I don't— Jesus, I was just gonna ask if you needed a place to spend the night. Like, out of the rain."

Mark frowns. "Where?"

"My house," says the alpha, with a small, tentative laugh. "You can shower, and— I'll loan you some clothes, if you want; you must be soaked. And you can stay overnight."

Sex will almost certainly be involved, Mark knows, but whatever; he can do that. A part of him wonders just how desperate this guy must be, if he's willing to fuck a five-month pregnant omega, but— fuck, the thought of a warm shower, and dry clothes, and maybe even a bed?

"Okay," says Mark. He shoves one box away from the other and crawls out into the rain, then stands, hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder. 

Immediately, the alpha stands up too. "Here, get under here," he says, hurrying toward Mark with his umbrella held aloft, and Mark ducks underneath it.

"That's better," says the alpha, sounding satisfied. "Come here." He puts an arm around Mark's back and draws him nearer to himself. "There," he says. "Let's go. My apartment isn't far."

So they walk, pressed together under the umbrella, out of the alley, down the block, around a corner.

"My name's Eduardo," says the alpha.

"Mark," says Mark.

The alpha— Eduardo— squeezes Mark's shoulder, and God, he's so fucking close, and his smell is so fucking strong, and—

And suddenly Mark is acutely aware of how awful he himself must smell. He moves a few inches away from Eduardo, shrugging off Eduardo's arm.

"Sorry," says Eduardo immediately.

"No," says Mark. "Just. I know that alphas hate the scent of omega pregnancy."

"I don't hate it," says Eduardo. Mark can't decide if he means it or not.

"Also I haven't showered in months," Mark adds. "As I'm sure you can tell."

"You're fine, don't worry," Eduardo says gently. "Come here, get closer; you're getting wet."

Mark glances up at him, but it's too dark to make out his features. Then, slowly, he sidles nearer, so their shoulders are touching, and breathes in Eduardo's scent.

It's not a bad scent, he has to admit to himself.

It smells warm, he thinks, and soft, and— maybe something else.

Something like safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts!
> 
> and there is in fact an explanation for why eduardo is out in the rain in the middle of the night, lol.


	3. Chapter 3

Eduardo's apartment is very large, and very pleasantly heated.

Mark sets down his duffel bag in the doorway and takes off his shoes and socks, then stands there, barefoot and shivering, as Eduardo closes his umbrella and hangs up his keys.

"Come here, we'll go to my room and get you some clothes," says Eduardo. "And then you can shower."

Mark nods, and follows him to the bedroom, watches as Eduardo goes through his dresser, grabbing various clothing items and throwing them onto the bed, which is fucking huge.

"Do you need clean underwear?" he asks.

"That'd be nice," admits Mark.

"Okay," says Eduardo. "Uh. They're not brand new, but I promise they're washed."

"That's fine," says Mark, settling a hand on his stomach as the baby shifts slightly.

Then Eduardo closes the dresser, gets down some plush-looking towels from the closet, picks up the clothes off the bed, and leads Mark to the bathroom.

He sets the clothes and towels on a little wire rack and turns to Mark.

"Take your time," he says. "And you can use whatever you want in there, the shampoo and soap and stuff."

"Okay," says Mark.

Eduardo pats his shoulder. "See you," he says, and he slips out of the room with a shy sort of smile.

Mark shuts the door.

He undresses, pulling off his filthy, rain-soaked hoodie and jeans and underwear, kicking them to the corner of the bathroom.

And then he steps into the shower and turns on the hot water.

It feels fucking amazing.

He hadn't realized how cold he was, how fucking _deep_ the cold went, until the hot water hit him. For a while he just stands there under the flow, letting the water soak into his skin, letting it warm him up.

Then he washes himself, his hair and face and body, his armpits and nails and scent glands. He rinses off, but it doesn't feel like enough, not after he's been so fucking dirty for so fucking long. So he lathers himself up again, this time scrubbing as hard as he can, until his skin is pink and stinging.

And as the soap runs off his body and swirls down the drain, he rests his hands on the swell of his stomach and thinks about Eduardo. He wonders what he was doing out in the rain in the middle of the night. He wonders what he thinks of omegas, if he's prejudiced at all or just paternalistic, and if he was lying when he said he didn't mind the smell of pregnancy. Wonders if he has some kind of fetish for it; Mark's been fucked by alphas like that before. He wonders if Eduardo will want to fuck as soon as Mark gets out of the shower, or if he might let Mark eat first. Or if he'll let Mark eat at all; he hadn't actually mentioned food, just a shower and clean clothes. Fuck. Mark hopes he lets him eat.

He turns off the water and steps out of the shower, onto the bathmat. He dries off with the towels, which are unnecessarily soft, then moves on to the clothes.

He puts on Eduardo's underwear and sweatpants, then grabs the hoodie, and pauses. _HARVARD_, it says, the word emblazoned boldly across the front, above the Veritas emblem. Mark feels a momentary prick of bitterness. Then he sighs and pulls it on over his head. It's like two sizes too big for him— the sleeves go down past the ends of his hands— but at least it fits his stomach better than his old one did. 

He opens the bathroom door and shuffles out into the living room, the legs of the sweatpants pooling around his ankles.

Eduardo is sitting in a leather couch, a book in his lap, but his eyes are fixed on Mark.

"How'd it go?" he asks.

Mark shrugs. "Fine."

"Good." Eduardo drums his fingers on the book. "Have you eaten?"

Mark's stomach lurches, but he frowns at the question. He did eat today, a personal pizza he bought with the money from the blowjob and devoured so quickly that it burned his mouth, but that had been hours ago. "Yes," he says at last, for some reason, maybe pride. "I've eaten."

Eduardo seems to sense his hesitation. "I mean. Like. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Mark says again, more quietly.

Eduardo nods, stands up. Mark squints to read the cover of the book he leaves lying on the couch; it's something about meteorology.

"Okay, so. What do you want to eat?" asks Eduardo. "I honestly go out to eat a lot, because I suck at cooking, but— I've got vegetable soup, mac and cheese, waffles, cereal? Or you could have a sandwich?"

Mark shrugs, and follows him into the kitchen.

"Any pregnancy cravings?" Eduardo adds with a smile, opening the refrigerator.

Mark scoffs. His pregnancy cravings basically consist of anything that hasn't come out of a garbage can.

He considers for a moment. Soup sounds nice, but Mark knows he should have something with protein. His baby needs protein. "Do you have any meat?" he asks tentatively, lifting a hand to his stomach.

"Uh, yeah, like slices of turkey. You want a turkey sandwich?"

Mark nods.

"You got it," says Eduardo, grinning.

Mark tries to smile back. He's not sure he manages it. He's kind of out of practice.

***

The turkey sandwich is good. 

Eduardo makes him a second one after he finishes the first, and asks if he wants a third. Mark's sure he could eat a third, but also thinks he might puke if he did, so he shakes his head.

Eduardo nods, and yawns widely. "Okay, well. You want to go to bed now? It's like—" He checks his watch. "Past midnight." He stands up.

Mark stares at him.

"You can sleep in the bed, of course," says Eduardo. "I guess I should get out new sheets..."

"We can just put down a towel," shrugs Mark. "I don't produce much slick now that I'm pregnant."

"Wait, _what_?"

Mark rolls his eyes. Eduardo might go to Harvard, but he's obviously kind of slow. "When we fuck," Mark says, enunciating clearly, "I won't produce very much slick, so a towel will be enough to protect the bed, which means it won't be necessary to change the sheets afterward."

Eduardo gapes at him for a moment. Then he sits back down at the table. "Mark, Jesus Christ," he says, leaning forward. "We're not gonna have sex."

Mark frowns.

"Is that what you thought? That I just wanted to knot you or something?" asks Eduardo. "I told you, I don't, I just wanted to be sure you were okay."

"But—" Mark's frown deepens. "Then why did you bring me back here?"

"Because a pregnant omega shouldn't have to sleep in the rain? No one should have to sleep in the rain," Eduardo says softly.

Mark stares down at his empty plate. "So you don't have some kind of... pregnancy fetish?"

"No," says Eduardo. "I promise, nothing like that."

"Oh."

"I'll sleep on the couch, okay? And what I meant about the sheets was— I just figured you'd want me to change them before you slept in the bed."

"Why?"

"Because they smell like me? I've always heard that pregnant omegas don't like the scent of any alpha but the one who got them pregnant, right?"

"That's... not true," says Mark, though he's heard that too, and never had reason to doubt it before meeting Eduardo tonight.

Eduardo squints at him. "Okay," he says slowly. "Well, I'll get out some fresh sheets anyway, in case it starts to bother you, and I'll leave them on my desk? Just in case."

Mark shrugs. Nods. "Alright."

Eduardo stands again, and Mark follows suit. They go to the bedroom.

***

"There are more blankets in the closet," says Eduardo. "And— are your feet cold? I have socks." He gets a pair of socks out from his dresser before Mark can respond. "Here," he says, handing them over. "Oh, and I'll get you water..."

He bustles about, showing Mark around the room and assuring him that he can use anything he wants. Then he puts a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks.

Mark blinks at him. "Yeah," he says, and there in Eduardo's bedroom, clean and warm and full, he actually sort of means it.

***

Mark hasn't slept in a bed in six months, and he'd almost forgotten what it felt like, to be comfortable, nestled under blankets, protected from the elements. And Eduardo hadn't even fucked him, he thinks hazily. Hadn't even seemed like he'd wanted to.

Mark buries his nose in the pillow and breathes in deeply, inhales the fresh smells of detergent and shampoo, mixed with Eduardo's headier alpha scent. It smells much clearer here than it had outside, like— spices? Maybe like something that's baking, or something fresh out of the oven. Like warmth, he can't help but think again, warmth and safety.

Mark snuggles deeper into the bed, and soon he falls asleep, to the smell of Eduardo, to the sound of rain outside, to the feeling of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!!!!! please leave comment— are you in this fandom? was there any detail(s) in this chapter that stuck out to you? let me know!!!
> 
> (btw i'm also **[sundays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundays)** here on ao3.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loll, i keep adding chapters
> 
> **warnings:** referenced rape

Mark is used to sleeping in bursts, whenever he can, usually only grabbing a few hours here and there before being awoken by something unpleasant: a nightmare, a hunger pang, a kick to the head. Or worse, a kick to his belly, because people are fucking assholes.

He gets hassled by police when he sleeps on the sidewalk, store-owners when he sleeps by their shops, garbage collectors when he sleeps behind dumpsters.

But in Eduardo's bed, he gets hassled by no one, and he sleeps for thirteen hours straight.

***

It's 1:34 PM when Mark finally wakes up, according to the alarm clock on the nightstand.

The blinds of the window are open, and outside it's still raining.

Mark pulls the blankets up to his nose and inhales deeply, savoring the smell of Eduardo and the sensation of being dry.

For a while he just lies there, trying to soak up as much warmth as he can before he inevitably has to return to the streets. He wonders if Eduardo would let him bring a blanket with him when he leaves. He thinks he probably would.

Mark closes his eyes, and curls up, and drifts back off to sleep.

***

"Mark?"

Mark blinks awake.

Eduardo is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his expression warm. "Hey," he says, as Mark squints at him. "I heard you moving earlier but you never came out, so I just wanted to check on you."

Mark rolls onto his side, toward Eduardo, but says nothing.

"Are you hungry?" Eduardo asks. "I could make you breakfast. Or lunch, since it's already 2:00. Brunch?"

Mark just nods.

"How about waffles?"

"That's fine," says Mark. Anything would be fine; if it's halfway edible, Mark will eat it.

"Okay," says Eduardo. "I'll see you in the kitchen then." He beams at Mark for a moment, then hurries away, and his scent wafts over Mark as he leaves.

Mark breathes it in and sighs.

***

"I Googled how to spice up plain waffles," says Eduardo, grinning as Mark enters the kitchen. "So I hope you like peanut butter and bananas." He gestures toward the dining table, at a plate with two waffles on it, each spread with peanut butter and topped with a careful array of sliced bananas.

Mark sits down wordlessly. Two days ago he found a Chinese takeout box in a trash can and ate the chicken and noodles from it with his bare hands. It's actually kind of hilarious to imagine being turned off by Eduardo's waffles.

He starts eating. Eduardo sits down across from him and seems to be watching him closely.

"Are you still in college?" Mark asks, chewing, trying not to eat too fast.

Eduardo nods. "I'm a senior," he says.

"At Harvard."

"Yeah, how'd—"

Mark points down at the logo on his hoodie.

"Oh," laughs Eduardo. "Right."

There's a beat.

"I went to Harvard too," Mark says then, abruptly, licking some peanut butter off his finger.

"But aren't you—" Eduardo breaks off.

"An omega? Yes, obviously," says Mark. "But I presented late. So I applied as a beta."

"When did you present?" asks Eduardo, frowning.

"Six months ago. It was the end of my sophomore year."

"And then— wait, what did Harvard do?"

"Expelled me," Mark says tonelessly. He takes another bite of waffle.

"Shit. That's really unfair," says Eduardo. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault," Mark tells him.

Eduardo bites his lip.

Neither of them speaks for a while. Mark finishes his first waffle and moves on to the second.

"Can I ask you something?" Eduardo says then, suddenly.

"Yes."

"You don't smell bonded."

Mark narrows his eyes. "Is that a question?"

Eduardo blinks at him. "I mean. Are you? Bonded?" he asks.

"No," says Mark.

Eduardo doesn't respond to that, just nods, looking uncomfortable.

Mark is aware that some people have antiquated ideas about pregnancy outside of a bonded relationship, and he wonders if Eduardo is one of them. "Is there a problem with that?" he asks tersely.

"No! No, not at all," says Eduardo. "I was just—" He swallows. "Is he around? The alpha that...?"

"He isn't, no."

"Okay." Eduardo nods. "I just didn't want to... encroach, if he was."

Mark scoffs, but offers no further explanation.

"And what about your family?" Eduardo asks quietly.

Mark shakes his head. "We've been estranged since I presented. My parents are ignorant shits who hate omegas." He shrugs. "You'd think they might make an exception for their own fucking son, but apparently not."

"That's terrible," says Eduardo.

Mark shrugs again. "They've always been pieces of shit. It's not a huge loss," he says, which is something he tells himself often, though sometimes it doesn't feel true.

"Families can be... really shitty," Eduardo says slowly, with a sigh.

Mark glances over at him, and Eduardo lowers his eyes, fiddles with a gold ring on his finger. "Actually, just last night, I had this call with my father, and it, uh. It didn't go well," he says. "I told him I never want to hear from him again. So I guess we're estranged now too." He gives Mark a sad little smile.

Mark focuses on his waffle.

"That's why I was out, last night, actually," Eduardo goes on. "I needed a fucking drink, after that call. So I went out to buy a case of beer." There's a pause. "I bought it and everything, and brought it home, but then... Well, you seemed a bit more important than getting drunk over my shitty father, so."

Mark looks up at him. He thinks Eduardo might be blushing.

"It's still in my fridge, if you want some," Eduardo offers then.

"I can't drink," says Mark. "Pregnant."

"Oh yeah. Right. Ignore me." Eduardo fidgets awkwardly.

Mark finishes his last bite of waffle, and a few moments pass in silence.

"I didn't know the alpha," Mark says then. "The one who got me pregnant. I didn't even see his face; it was too dark."

"What was it, like a one-night stand?"

Mark smiles ruefully. "No," he says. "It was like: I was in heat outside a Dunkin' Donuts, and he dragged me down an alley and knotted me."

Eduardo stares at him. "Mark," he says finally, his voice faint. "He raped you?"

Mark shakes his head. "I told you, I was in heat," he says, because it's legally impossible to rape an unbonded omega in heat, and even sex with a bonded one is only a crime against their alpha; the omega's consent to the act is assumed.

"Fuck that," says Eduardo. "That's the kind of bullshit my father believes, that a heat equals consent. If you didn't consent, you didn't consent, who gives a fuck whether you were in heat?"

"And who said I didn't consent?" asks Mark hollowly.

Which shuts Eduardo up.

Mark pushes away his empty plate and crosses his arms over his stomach. "Anyway, I'll get going now," he says. "Though I wanted to know if I could take a blanket with me, maybe?"

Eduardo stares at Mark with a mixture of confusion and concern, which seems to be one of his default expressions.

"If not, it's okay," Mark adds, shrugging. He stands up. "I'll just get my duffel bag and..."

Eduardo's face falls. "Wait, Mark, you really want to leave?" he says, in a sad, strangled voice.

Mark frowns. He doesn't exactly _want_ to leave, he just— "Well I have to leave sometime, right? Might as well be now."

"But it's still raining," whispers Eduardo.

"It could keep raining for days," shrugs Mark.

"It's gonna stop tomorrow," says Eduardo automatically, like he has the weather forecast memorized. "But Mark..." He trails off.

"What, do you want me to stay till tomorrow then?" asks Mark. He's not sure what to make of Eduardo's apparent distress.

Eduardo lowers his gaze. "I thought... I thought you'd want to stay until the baby was born, at least," he mumbles.

"What?"

"You don't have to, of course," Eduardo says quickly, looking back up. "I just thought, since it seems like you don't have anywhere to go... And I mean. With the baby..."

Mark lifts a hand absently to his stomach and studies Eduardo's expression, his wide brown eyes and slightly-furrowed brow. He seems serious, genuine, but Mark feels like he's missing something. Because a self-respecting alpha doesn't just volunteer to take care of some stray omega he isn't bonded to, and definitely not an omega who's pregnant with another alpha's kid. 

But shit. Slowly, Mark sits back down at the table, and lets himself imagine living here for the remainder of his pregnancy, sleeping in a bed and getting enough to eat and not fucking freezing to death when winter comes. 

Then he thinks of his baby, who never asked to be conceived and whose immune function and brain development have probably already been compromised to some extent by five months of prenatal stress and malnutrition.

Fuck. Mark blinks rapidly, desperate not to start crying.

"You'd let me stay here?" he asks then, quietly. "For four fucking months, seriously?"

Eduardo nods. "Yes, of _course_," he says. "Mark, please. I want you to."

Mark isn't sure what's in it for Eduardo, and kind of dreads finding out, but—

"Okay," he says, because he owes it to his baby, doesn't he? He presses both hands to his stomach, hesitates. "Thank you," he adds stiffly.

Eduardo says nothing, but his eyes crinkle happily, and he smiles at Mark, so brightly, so warmly, that maybe Mark smiles back. (And if he cries a little too, well. Whatever. So be it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!! comments mean the world to me!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** this chapter contains a pretty detailed depiction of past rape, in the form of a nightmare / flashback

Mark unpacks his duffel bag on the floor of the living room.

He has some changes of clothes and underwear, all equally dirty, and a small, threadbare blanket. Then there's deodorant, a rusty razor, shaving cream, baby wipes, a baggie with a toothbrush and toothpaste inside, a pair of flip-flops, a couple torn-up books, a few bottles of water, and three crumpled dollar bills.

(He'd had more stuff, when he'd left Harvard, including a laptop, but his backpack had been stolen his first week on the street. It still makes his chest hurt to think about, so he doesn't.)

Eduardo stands nearby, looking on with apparent dismay at the array of shit from Mark's bag.

"I can wash your clothes, if you want," he says. "Mine are too big for you, huh?"

Mark shrugs. He likes Eduardo's hoodie, finds it stupidly— comforting, or something, to ball his hands up in the too-long sleeves.

And the truth is that even if they're washed, his clothes will still be pathetically shabby and second-hand, because Mark's always been poor, even if he wasn't always homeless. Plus his t-shirts and hoodies are too small now to fit his stomach without stretching uncomfortably. Eduardo's oversized hoodie doesn't have to stretch.

"Not that I mind you wearing my clothes," Eduardo says quickly, in response to Mark's shrug. "I just thought." He frowns. "Wait, what about maternity clothes; do you need those?"

Mark shrugs again.

"Because we can go shopping," offers Eduardo.

Mark doesn't give a shit about clothes, to be honest, but if Eduardo's willing to go shopping— "Could we buy prenatal vitamins?" he asks cautiously. "They're expensive, like twenty dollars."

"Oh! Shit, of course," says Eduardo. "I didn't think of that."

"I only have three bucks," Mark says.

"That's— Mark, I'll pay, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I—" Eduardo sits down on the couch. "Look, you should probably know, I'm not— badly off. Financially. I have this thing where I bet on oil futures? I'm kind of a— a weather nerd. Which helps predict the price of heating oil. I've made a fair bit of money like that."

Meteorology, thinks Mark, remembering the book Eduardo had been reading. 

"So I don't mind buying things," Eduardo goes on. "For you, or the baby, or anything. It's not an imposition. I've, uh, actually been doing some research, on baby stuff to buy," he adds, blushing.

Mark finds it amusing, how easily Eduardo blushes. 

Then he processes what Eduardo had said, and it almost knocks the breath out of him. He used to do everything in his power to keep from imagining raising a baby on the street, because he'd known he would never be able to afford what it needed, like diapers and formula and blankets. But now, he thinks— maybe his baby will have all that stuff. And maybe other stuff too, non-necessities, like toys and a crib and stupid little onesies with inane phrases printed on them.

"You'd buy stuff for my baby?" he asks.

"Yes, of course," Eduardo says immediately.

"Why?"

Eduardo smiles, but he looks sad. "Because I want to help you, Mark."

"Why?"

"Because you need help."

Mark feels defensive at that, and wants to protest, but can't quite bring himself to. Because it's true, he knows. He does need fucking help. He lowers his eyes.

"And I like you," says Eduardo. "I— I've never smelled an omega with a scent like yours."

Mark looks back up, intrigued. "Like what?"

"You smell like... like electricity," Eduardo tells him.

"That isn't a smell."

"I know, but that's the best way I can describe it. Like a thunderstorm, maybe. But it's calming, somehow."

Mark contemplates this for a moment. "You smell like baking," he says at last, shrugging.

"I know," mutters Eduardo. "My father gives me shit for it, because only omegas are supposed to smell sweet."

"You don't smell sweet," says Mark automatically. "You smell warm."

Eduardo doesn't point out that _warm_ isn't a smell. "No one's ever told me that," he says, frowning slightly. "Is it... good?"

"Your scent?"

"Yeah."

Mark hesitates. "Yes," he admits. "I don't mind it," which is an understatement, but suddenly he feels embarrassed.

And shit, maybe Eduardo can tell, because he changes the subject. "I'll put your clothes in the laundry," he says, standing up. "And then we can go get the vitamins."

Mark nods. "Okay," he says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," says Eduardo, his expression soft. "You're always welcome, Mark."

***

They buy prenatal vitamins at the drugstore, along with new toiletries for Mark.

Eduardo said he's rich, Mark reminds himself when he's tempted to balk at the total price; if he wants to waste his money, that's his own problem.

They return to Eduardo's apartment, and Eduardo spends the rest of the day researching baby items on his laptop and calling Mark over every five minutes to view his findings. Mark spends it reading his beat-up Latin copy of _The Aeneid_ and trying not to be too hopeful about Eduardo's seeming interest in the baby's well-being.

They eat a late lunch, and dinner, and it's the first time in months that Mark's had three meals in one day.

It's still raining when they turn in for the night, Eduardo on the couch and Mark in the bed.

And as he falls asleep, Mark wonders what a thunderstorm smells like.

***

It had been a mild June night, and in his nightmares, Mark remembers everything.

He remembers lying on the concrete in the dead of the night, curled up against the wall of Dunkin' Donuts, aching and feverish and wet with slick. His first heat, and he remembers it hadn't been what he'd expected: he hadn't been insensible with lust, or blinded by desire for an alpha knot, or any of that shit, just— fuck, it had hurt, no matter how much he'd touched himself, and at last he'd given up, fallen asleep, exhausted from the never-ending waves of pain.

Then he remembers waking up, the alpha towering above him, remembers being yanked to his feet and knowing exactly what was about to happen.

He remembers the scent of his own heat, ripe and pungent and dripping down his thighs as he struggled. Because he _had_ struggled, he had, but alphas are stronger than omegas to begin with, and Mark had been tired and underfed and in _heat_, for fuck's sake.

He remembers the smell of garbage littering the alley as he was thrown to the ground, mounted, knotted. He remembers crying.

And most of all he remembers the stench of the alpha, woodsy and herbal but also rotting, twisted, cruel. It had clogged his nostrils, clouded his senses, and in the end he'd stopped fighting.

"Such a needy bitch," the alpha had growled. "Look at you covered in slick. Tell me how much you want my knot."

Mark had said nothing, and the alpha had slapped him, rutted him harder. "Tell me," he'd demanded. "Tell me you want this."

And eventually: "I want this," Mark had told him, through gritted teeth.

_I want this_, he'd told himself too, again and again, _I want this_, for God knows how long, until finally it was over, and the alpha had left him, and—

"Mark, wake up. Mark. Mark!"

Mark opens his eyes, but it's dark, and he can still smell him, the alpha, all rotten wood and raw desire, a choking, suffocating smell—

But then someone's touching him, drawing him close, enveloping him in a different scent. The scent of Eduardo, mellow and warm and protective.

"Wardo," Mark says. It's all he can say.

He presses his nose to Eduardo's shoulder and breathes.

"It was just a nightmare," Eduardo tells him softly, rubbing his back. "You're safe."

Mark is crying, he realizes suddenly, and he wipes hastily at his eyes. "Did I wake you up?" he asks.

"You were yelling."

Fuck.

"What was I saying?"

"Um." Eduardo hesitates. "You were saying to stop, I think? That's what I heard, at least."

"He smelled terrible," Mark says haltingly, before he can help himself. He wipes his eyes again. "He made me say I wanted it."

Eduardo just hugs him. Mark hugs back, and inhales as deeply as he can. And then he scents him, rubs the side of his neck desperately against Eduardo's.

"Shit," he says, jerking away, realizing what he'd done. "Shit, I didn't even ask—"

"It's fine," Eduardo tells him in the darkness. "It felt good; I like your smell."

He pulls Mark back into the embrace and nuzzles his own neck against Mark's. His scent seems to flood Mark's body, slowing his heart rate, drying his tears.

They hug for a long time, and then they lie down together in the bed. 

And eventually, curled into Eduardo's side and breathing in his warmth, Mark falls back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading; i hope you enjoyed! let me know your thoughts in a comment :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** very brief mention of rape; mentions of weight (no numbers though); mentions of pregnancy complications which do not come to pass (mark's baby will be fine in the end); visit to a doctor / mention of medical things

The next day is Monday.

It's overcast, but the rain has stopped, just as Eduardo had predicted.

"You're sure you'll be okay when I'm at class?" Eduardo asks about five times over breakfast.

"_Yes_," Mark finally snaps, "for God's sake, I'm an omega, not a three-year-old."

Which seems to get through to Eduardo.

Mark spends the day on Eduardo's laptop, going through Eduardo's search history and reviewing all the baby stuff.

When Eduardo gets out of class that afternoon, he takes Mark shopping for clothes— new socks, and maternity boxers, and sweatpants. He gets him some new hoodies too, but mainly Mark continues to wear Eduardo's, which smell better.

***

They go out to dinner together most evenings, to ridiculous fancy restaurants where Mark's the only person in a hoodie. Eduardo pulls out chairs for him to sit in and tells him what he thinks he would like from the menu, and Mark rolls his eyes at the coddling, but he doesn't really mind.

It's even kind of nice, maybe.

***

The week passes quickly.

Eduardo goes to his classes, and Mark occupies himself by reading Eduardo's books and using Eduardo's laptop and eating Eduardo's food. From the books he learns about meteorology and economics and business, which range from boring as fuck to actually pretty interesting, and from the Internet he learns about babies.

Without really meaning to, he begins to compile an ever-expanding mental list of birth defects and pregnancy complications, which he dwells on at night as he tries to fall asleep.

***

"You don't have to sleep on the couch, you know," Mark tells Eduardo on Friday. "You can sleep in the bed with me."

Eduardo frowns. "Are— wait, really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah," says Mark, shrugging. "That night when... when I had the nightmare. It was fine, with you there. I slept fine."

Eduardo studies him for a moment, and seems to understand that Mark means something more than _fine_.

"Okay," Eduardo says, and he smiles, then blushes. "We'll share the bed."

Mark nods, and tells him, "Good," satisfied.

***

"If you ever want to sleep by yourself instead, just let me know, alright?" says Eduardo that night, as they lie side by side in the dark.

"I'll let you know."

"I'm sure it's probably weird," Eduardo says then, "to sleep near an alpha, after..."

After being raped by one, is what he means, though he doesn't come out and say it, for which Mark is grateful.

"It's okay," Mark mutters after a moment. "You smell a lot better than he did."

Eduardo touches Mark's elbow, delicately, and Mark scoots closer.

He'd always felt so fucking alone, on the streets, clutching at his tattered blanket, cold and hungry and longing for sleep.

He'd gotten used to it, at some point.

But it's a relief, he thinks, as he snuggles up to Eduardo, to not be alone anymore.

And soon he drifts off to sleep.

***

"You know if you don't take folic acid supplements during the first three months of pregnancy, your baby is at a higher risk for neural tube defects like spina bifida?" Mark asks Eduardo.

It's Saturday, and they're out to dinner at some sushi place. Their food has just arrived, something with raw fish for Eduardo and California rolls for Mark.

Eduardo frowns. "Don't doctors have tests for that stuff?" he asks, wielding his chopsticks effortlessly.

"Yes," says Mark. He stabs his California roll. "But I haven't been to a doctor."

"Oh." Eduardo's frown deepens, like that hadn't occurred to him. "Do you want to go to one?"

Eduardo asks stupid questions like that sometimes; it's equal parts endearing and annoying as fuck.

"Yes," says Mark. "Of course I do."

"Mark, Jesus, you should have said something," Eduardo tells him gently. "We can go next week; we'll go together, okay?"

"I lost my insurance when Harvard kicked me out," Mark mumbles.

Eduardo gives him a look. "I can pay for it out-of-pocket," he says. "It's no problem; I told you before, I have money."

"Okay," says Mark. He glances away.

"You alright?" Eduardo asks, setting down his chopsticks.

Mark stares at his food. _I'm afraid there's something wrong my baby_, he doesn't say. _And I'm afraid it's my fault, because my nutrient intake was shit while I was homeless, and my sleep pattern was fucked, and I didn't take any vitamins or folic acid, and a couple months ago I got sick—_

"I'm fine," he tells Eduardo.

Eduardo frowns, but doesn't push.

***

But he must have suspected, because: "Hey, are you worried about that thing you mentioned at dinner?" he asks Mark later that night, sitting up in bed and poised to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. "The folic acid thing?"

"No," says Mark.

"You shouldn't worry," Eduardo tells him.

Mark doesn't respond right away. "Why not?" he asks finally.

"Because your baby will be fine; I can feel it," Eduardo says firmly. 

It's the kind of statement that Mark knows should be completely unhelpful, even infuriating, but somehow, coming from Eduardo, it isn't.

Mark nods. "Okay," he whispers. He pauses. "Goodnight, Wardo."

And Eduardo runs his fingers through Mark's hair, and turns off the lamp.

"Goodnight."

***

They go to the doctor three days later.

It's all very boring stuff at first: filling out forms and peeing in a cup, getting weighed and having his blood pressure checked.

And then comes the ultrasound. The technician is an overly-friendly beta who obviously assumes that Eduardo is the baby's alpha father.

Mark doesn't correct her, and to his slight surprise, neither does Eduardo.

She squirts gel on Mark's stomach and glides the transducer over it, and suddenly there it is, on the screen: a baby, _Mark's_ baby, black and white and distorted in the sonogram, but with a nose and a forehead and tiny little arms, and— fuck, Mark kind of wants to cry. 

The baby is a boy, the technician tells them. She points out his organs, his brain, his hands and feet.

Eduardo touches Mark's arm, and his hand is as warm as his scent.

Mark glances up at him, and they smile at each other, and Mark gives up on trying not to cry.

***

They go to another room after the ultrasound, where they meet Mark's doctor, also a beta.

She uses a Doppler to listen to the baby's heartbeat, and she measures Mark's baby bump.

Then she looks over the form he'd filled out earlier.

"You've left the alpha father's medical history blank," is the first thing she says, with a glance at Eduardo.

"He's not the alpha," Mark says. "I don't— I didn't know the alpha."

"I see," says the doctor, pursing her lips. "And according to this you're twenty-five weeks pregnant?"

Mark nods.

"And this is your first prenatal checkup?"

"Yes."

The doctor looks him in the eye. "Is there a reason you've been neglecting your baby's prenatal health up to this point?" she asks.

Mark opens his mouth, but before he can respond, Eduardo stands up and places a hand firmly on Mark's shoulder. "Excuse me, but he was _prevented_ from seeing a doctor by forces beyond his fucking control," he snarls. "And you don't know what you're talking about, or what he's been through, and if you're gonna suggest for even a second that he doesn't care about his baby, then you can go—" He breaks off, glaring, breathing heavily.

Mark stares up at him. It's the first time he's seen Eduardo really act like an alpha, and it makes his stomach clench in a strangely not-unpleasant way.

Then he glances at the doctor, who seems somewhat taken aback. "Sir, I didn't mean to imply anything," she says. "I apologize if I caused offense."

Eduardo scoffs, and sits back down next to Mark. "You certainly meant to imply something," he says. "But let's get on with the appointment; how is the baby?"

***

The baby is healthy and anatomically perfect, the doctor tells them, as is the amount of amniotic fluid and the location of the placenta.

But Mark is underweight and the baby is measuring small for his gestational age. The doctor shows them a chart, indicates how the baby falls in the 9th percentile for size.

"Is that bad?" Mark asks, though he knows it is; he's done his fucking research. 

"It's not ideal, but it's no reason to worry yet," says the doctor. "I do want you back for another appointment in two weeks, and we'll do another scan and see if there's been some improvement."

Mark nods, but it feels like he can barely breathe. Eduardo seems to sense his panic. He takes Mark's hand, squeezes it, then rubs his wrist against Mark's, scenting him lightly.

Immediately, Mark feels warmth rush through him. He inhales, exhales, and tries to focus on what the doctor is saying.

She's talking about the possible causes of intrauterine growth restriction. Then she tells him it's good that he's been feeling the baby move, so that's something. Finally she rambles a bit about a balanced diet and the importance of getting adequate nutrition, and Mark nods vaguely.

He'll keep eating healthily, he tells himself. And he'll gain weight. He'll take his prenatal vitamins. His baby will grow.

He holds his stomach with his right hand and presses his left wrist against Eduardo's, anxious to feel another wave of warmth. It passes over him, just as soothing as the first was, and Mark closes his eyes. _It'll be okay_, he can practically feel Eduardo saying through his scent.

And Mark decides to let himself believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. if you comment i will die of happiness. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** reference to abortion (which doesn't happen), mentions of prostitution, visit to a doctor, mention of weight (no numbers)

Mark had known he was pregnant almost immediately. 

His heat had stopped early, for one thing. Within an hour of the alpha leaving him crumpled in that alley, he'd stopped leaking slick, and the pain and the feeling of aching need had dissipated.

And he'd smelled something, something like... pineapple? It wasn't a scent he'd ever heard of as being an indicator of pregnancy, but somehow he'd known that that was exactly what it was.

He hadn't wanted to be pregnant. He really, really hadn't fucking wanted to be pregnant, not like this, not right now, maybe not ever. So he'd ignored the signs and gone on with his miserable fucking life.

Then the next two months had passed without Mark having a heat.

And finally he'd saved his money and bought a pregnancy test, which he'd taken in the bathroom of a Five Guys. He'd stared at the positive result for a few long minutes, then thrown it away and left the restaurant.

He'd cried that night, curled up by a dumpster. He'd wanted an abortion, and looked into getting one, only to learn that abortions cost a couple hundred dollars without insurance, and Mark hadn't had the money. Hadn't had any money at all, except some days a few bucks for food, if he was lucky.

Another month had passed, and Mark's stomach had started to show. He'd gone to the Cambridge Public Library and Googled shit about babies, learned about the long-term effects of prenatal stress on a child's development, read studies following pregnant homeless omegas and betas and charting the outcomes of their pregnancies, which weren't great.

Mark remembers the first time someone else had smelled the baby. He'd been four months pregnant, and he'd approached an alpha's car and leaned into the open window, only for the alpha to sniff the air and recoil in disgust.

"Shit," he'd said. "You're pregnant."

"What?"

"You smell pregnant; are you pregnant?"

Mark had shrugged. "My ass and mouth are unaffected, I assure you."

"Yeah, but your smell. Your smell's all fucked up."

"Plug your nose?" Mark had suggested.

The alpha had shaken his head. "You smell claimed."

"I'm unbonded."

"But you're _pregnant_. I'm sorry, the smell is just... it's fucking gross."

Mark had blinked.

"I gotta go," the alpha had said, revving his engine, and Mark had stepped back and watched him drive away.

His stomach had continued to grow, and his customers had continued to dwindle, except for some rare alphas who had liked it, liked to come on his rounded belly, or whisper about him being all bred up like a good little bitch, or growl about knotting him so hard he'd lose the baby.

***

Mark wonders, occasionally, how many times he's been fucked. He'd done it for six months, after all, on and off, not every day, but a lot of days. Definitely more times than he can remember. He can still smell them sometimes, out of the blue, a whiff of some alpha who knotted him once behind a store or in a car or on the sidewalk.

He hasn't told Eduardo about it, hasn't told Eduardo about anything he used to do for money. He doesn't want Eduardo to think less of him. Or worse, to feel sorry for him— sorrier for him than he obviously already does.

But he dreams about it at night, about whoring himself out, being rutted into the ground and come inside of and slapped around.

He wakes up shaking, clammy, and turns toward Eduardo's sleeping form, buries his face in his chest or his armpit and breathes in the scent of spices and warmth and home.

He'll tell Eduardo someday, he decides, just maybe not quite yet.

***

It's December.

Mark has gained weight, he knows. He can't feel his ribs anymore, not like he used to be able to, and his cheeks aren't as hollow, his wrists aren't as bony.

Two weeks pass, and it's time for Mark's follow-up prenatal appointment.

Eduardo requests a different doctor this time, and they end up with a male beta who smiles a lot and constantly asks Mark if he has any questions or concerns. Mark likes him more than the lady, he decides.

The doctor listens to the baby's heart and measures Mark's bump, then informs them that everything looks good and the baby has grown. He's still small, but the doctor says that it isn't a cause for concern now that he's above the 10th percentile for size. Mark feels dizzy with relief.

Eduardo nudges Mark's shoulder, as if to say _I told you so_, and in return Mark punches Wardo's arm and smiles.

***

Eduardo takes his finals and winter break arrives. 

"I was gonna go home for break," says Eduardo, one evening, as they're playing video games together in the living room. "I'd bought my plane tickets and everything. But now that I'm not speaking with my father..."

Mark nods. He's glad, privately, that Eduardo is staying. He'd be bored without him.

Then Eduardo pauses the game, stares down into his lap. "I miss my mom," he says, quietly.

"Can't you call her?" asks Mark.

Eduardo shakes his head. "My father is very controlling. And my mom buys into all the alpha-omega hierarchy stuff. She does whatever he says. And he's certainly forbidden her from talking to me."

"That's fucked up," Mark offers.

"I know," says Eduardo.

And fuck, Eduardo is crying. Mark bites his lip. He isn't equipped to handle this, isn't good at dealing with crying people.

He reaches out, uncertain, and pats Eduardo's knee.

Wordlessly, Eduardo scoots closer, rests his head on Mark's shoulder.

Mark scents his neck.

"That feels good," murmurs Eduardo. 

They sit there silently for a moment.

"It's funny," Eduardo adds then, his voice still shaky from tears. "I— I always thought scenting only worked with family members and mates. But we're not bonded, and it obviously still works between us. Isn't that weird?"

Mark just shrugs. Somehow, to him, it doesn't seem weird at all.

***

"Wardo," says Mark, one night in mid-December.

It's late, and they're in bed, Mark going on Eduardo's laptop and Eduardo reading a book about economics.

Eduardo glances over. "What?"

Mark sets aside the laptop and pulls down the covers.

"Feel my stomach."

"Huh?"

"Feel my stomach," Mark repeats. He pries Eduardo's hand off the book and guides it to the curve of his belly.

Eduardo stares at him. "Is he—"

"He's moving."

Eduardo's eyes get adorably wide, and they sit there in silence for a while, waiting.

Then the baby kicks, and Eduardo's mouth falls open.

"Oh my God," he breathes. "Mark—"

Mark smiles. "It's cool, right?"

Eduardo just nods.

Mark puts his hand on top of Wardo's, and the baby kicks again.

There are tears in Eduardo's eyes, and Mark leans in and kisses him.

Eduardo sits there frozen for a moment, then takes Mark's face in his hands and kisses back.

It's a deep, tender kiss, and Eduardo tastes as good as he smells, and Mark kind of wants to kiss him forever.

But at last they pull apart, and just then the baby moves in a way that Mark could only describe as— happy, if a fetus can be happy.

"He likes you," he tells Wardo. "The baby."

It's a stupid thing to say, but Eduardo smiles broadly. "I like him too," he says. He touches Mark's cheek. "Mark."

"What?"

"I want you to live here," says Eduardo. "After he's born, and— and after that too. I don't want you to leave. I never want you to leave."

"Me neither," whispers Mark.

And they kiss again, Mark's fingers in Eduardo's hair, and Eduardo's hand pressed to Mark's stomach, both their scents swirling in the air.

And Mark thinks this might be what it's like to be in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading; i hope you enjoyed! please comment to let me know your thoughts <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** referenced prostitution
> 
> note: in this fic, to "mark" someone, you bite the scent gland on their neck, and if the mark "takes," then you're bonded. if the marked person doesn't want to be bonded, the mark won't take.

"Merry Christmas," says Eduardo, shaking Mark awake on the morning of December 25th.

"For fuck's sake, Wardo," Mark groans. "We're Jewish."

"I know," laughs Eduardo. "But I mean, it's not like I got you anything for Hanukkah, so. I figured Christmas would be the next best opportunity."

Mark sits up. "You got me something?" he asks.

"Yeah." Eduardo smiles. "It's not much, but— yeah."

***

_Not much_ turns out to be a laptop and a cell phone.

"Fuck, Eduardo," says Mark, examining the cell phone. He's never had one before. "Now I'll never be able to escape you telling me to drink water."

Eduardo smiles, and Mark sets aside the phone and pulls the laptop out of its box. He runs a finger over the smooth silver surface.

"I figured it's about time you had your own, don't you think?" says Eduardo.

And Mark has long given up on arguing with Eduardo about spending money on him like this, so he nods. "Thank you," he mumbles.

"You're welcome." Wardo beams. "Use it well," he adds, clapping Mark on the back.

"I will," says Mark. And he means it.

***

The last few days of winter break, Eduardo flies to Brazil and makes two hundred thousand dollars betting on the price of oil.

It's kind of funny, Mark thinks, to consider that he used to be glad to make 20 bucks a week begging for change and selling his ass on the street, while Eduardo can make 200k in a weekend just by studying the weather.

And to Eduardo, it's apparently no big deal, just another couple hundred thousand bucks to add to his already-full bank account.

"That's great, we're gonna need every cent," Mark deadpans over the phone when Eduardo tells him the news. "We've got a lot of baby shit to buy and strollers are expensive these days."

Eduardo laughs. "I miss you."

"You'll be home tomorrow," says Mark. What he means is, _I miss you too_.

***

When Eduardo returns from Brazil the next day, he gives Mark a hug, and a kiss on the forehead, then takes a step back.

"You look bigger," he says, touching Mark's stomach.

"Rude," Mark observes. "Besides, it's only been four days."

"Still," says Eduardo. "I think he's growing in there."

***

And he is. Mark's next prenatal checkup confirms that the baby is now in the 20th percentile for size, according to his gestational age.

He's due in two months, on March 11th, and it doesn't quite feel real yet.

But it's starting to, mainly because it's all Eduardo talks about. He's made extensive lists of everything they need to buy, and he spends his free time reading books about child-rearing and pouring over parenting forums.

One evening, as they eat spaghetti for dinner and Eduardo talks about pacifier brands, Mark cuts him off.

"You know you're not supposed to give a shit about my baby," he says.

In an instant, Eduardo's face crumples.

"I mean, biologically-speaking," Mark says quickly. "Because he belongs to another alpha. So you should be hardwired to keep your distance."

"Well. Maybe I was hardwired wrong," says Eduardo, smiling sadly. "My father always thought I was."

Shit. "I didn't mean it like that," says Mark, with a frown. "Your father is an asshole."

"Yeah," says Eduardo. "But sometimes he's right. At least, he's right that I'm bad at being an alpha."

Mark scoffs, and twirls some spaghetti onto his fork. "If you mean you're bad at being an aggressive bigot, then yeah," he says. "But you're fine at being an alpha."

"You think so?" asks Eduardo. He seems genuinely surprised to hear it.

"Of course." Mark shrugs, and continues to eat his spaghetti.

Eduardo looks down, spears a meatball. "I never even felt like one, honestly, until I found you back behind that grocery store. I always wondered if there'd been some kind of mistake with my presentation. But with you, I—" Eduardo glances up for a fraction of a second, then back down at his food. "I care about you. Ever since I met you, I've cared about you. And your baby; I— I care about both of you."

"I know," says Mark, which he does. He might not understand it, but he does know that it's true.

Eduardo sets down his fork, reaches across the table, and takes Mark's hand.

He squeezes, and the baby kicks in Mark's stomach.

And Mark knows that it's just a coincidence, but he finds himself smiling anyway.

***

It's late January, and they're at Babies R Us together for about the thousandth time, ostensibly looking for a crib, but Eduardo has dragged Mark to the clothing section, as always.

"He already has clothes," groans Mark.

"Yeah," says Eduardo, rifling through the racks. "But just hold on. Like, look at this one." He holds up a tiny onesie with the words _FUTURE NERD_ on it. "We should get it," he says.

Mark raises his eyebrows.

"I mean it's almost guaranteed to be true, right?" Eduardo goes on. "With us as his parents?"

Mark's heart flips over. "His parents?"

"Yeah," says Eduardo, easily. He puts the onesie in their cart. "That's what we'll be, isn't it?"

Mark just nods mutely. 

He thinks if he tried to talk, he'd start to cry.

***

They're lying in bed that night, and Mark is almost asleep, when suddenly Eduardo asks, quietly, "Have you ever considered before if you want to be marked someday?"

Fuck, thinks Mark. He should have known this would come up at some point. He shifts in bed, and doesn't answer right away. "Uh. I already have been," he says at last, tightly. "Three times."

There's a surprised little intake of breath from Eduardo. "You have?" he asks.

"Yes."

"But— What, the marks didn't take or something?"

"I'm not bonded, am I?" says Mark without inflection.

"Right. Obviously. I just..." Eduardo seems to hesitate. "Were they boyfriends, or girlfriends, or...?"

"They were people who paid to fuck me and got carried away," Mark says flatly.

And he waits.

For a while, Eduardo is just— silent. Then he sits up in bed. "Mark," he says, very softly.

"What?" snaps Mark.

Eduardo reaches out, rests a hand on Mark's chest, and Mark becomes uncomfortably aware of how fast his heart is beating. 

"That must have been terrifying," says Eduardo. "To be marked by strangers?"

Mark shrugs. "It wasn't a big deal," he says, which is more or less true, or at least a variation on the truth. "I mean I knew they wouldn't take. You have to want the bond for it to take. So the marks were gone in a couple days; it was okay."

"I know," says Eduardo. "But still." He touches Mark's hair, trails his hand down Mark's face and rubs his neck with his wrist, filling Mark up with his scent. "And— I'm sorry you had to do that," he murmurs.

"What, prostitution?"

"Yeah."

Mark shrugs. "It's not like I did it often," he says. "Only if I really needed money." Which was, admittedly, always. But whatever.

Eduardo squeezes Mark's shoulder, then leans over and kisses him in the dark.

And Mark melts beneath him, breathes him in, feels his chest expand, because shit, Eduardo still likes him, still wants him.

And they kiss, and kiss, and—

"You could mark me," Mark says recklessly against Eduardo's lips. "I think it would take, if it were you."

Eduardo goes still. Pulls away.

"Not that— I wouldn't expect you to, obviously," Mark hastens to add. "I— shit, I shouldn't have said that; I wasn't—"

"You want me to mark you?" Eduardo breathes.

And Mark has no fucking idea how to respond, because bonding has social and legal ramifications that Eduardo would never want to take on, that Mark could never pressure him to take on. "I'm just saying that it would _take_, if you did," he decides on eventually.

"But that would— that would mean you wanted it," Eduardo says slowly.

"I mean, yeah, but you don't have to actually _do_ it," Mark tells him.

Eduardo is quiet for a long time. Then he says, his voice trembling, "Mark, I want to."

"Fuck, are you crying?"

"Yes."

"Wardo, shit, don't," says Mark, sitting up. He kisses Eduardo on one cheek and dries the other with his hand, but Eduardo keeps crying.

"I never— I never wanted to be bonded until I met you," Eduardo says. "But then since meeting you, it's, like. The _only_ thing I've wanted. And I didn't know that you'd ever— but then today, with the onesie— but still, when I asked, I didn't think that—"

Mark laughs. "Wardo," he says. "Calm down."

Eduardo takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," he says. "I'm just— thinking of being bonded. To you. Shit." He turns on the lamp on the nightstand and wipes his eyes, then smiles at Mark. "I love you," he says quietly.

At that, Mark cups Eduardo's cheeks in his hands, and kisses him ardently, fiercely, his neck tingling, because he loves Eduardo too, and they're gonna be bonded, and they're gonna have a baby, and— 

Wardo kisses him back, and they lie down together, intertwined, scenting each other.

And Mark can't remember ever feeling so happy in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments are always very appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** referenced prostitution and rape

"You'd do it to me too, right?" Eduardo whispers, before they fall asleep.

"Mark you?"

"Yeah."

"Yes." They're still tangled together after the kiss, and Eduardo's scent is heavy in Mark's nostrils.

"Good," says Eduardo. "I don't want—" He inhales shakily. "My parents' bond is one-sided. I think that's fucking terrible."

"Shit."

"Yeah. It's— they're very old-fashioned."

Mark nods slowly. "I'll definitely mark you," he says.

Eduardo kisses Mark's temple, runs his fingers over the scent gland on Mark's neck. "Thank you," he says.

There's a moment of silence.

"Have you ever been marked before?" Mark asks then.

"Never."

Mark swallows. It kind of thrills him, to think of being the first, the first person to claim Eduardo like that. He clicks his teeth together experimentally, imagining biting Wardo's skin. His stomach flips. "When do we do it?" he asks.

"Whenever you want," says Eduardo softly. "Just— I mean, well. Not tonight; I think we should, you know, get used to the idea a bit first."

Mark nods. "Okay, yeah," he whispers, his chest coursing with excitement. "But soon."

"Soon," Eduardo agrees. He turns off the light, and Mark snuggles closer. Mark's heart is racing, and his body is— like, vibrating, or something. He feels exhilarated. Invigorated.

But he closes his eyes, and breathes in Eduardo, and feels himself relax. _Bonded_, he thinks. Bonded to Eduardo. And eventually, somehow, he manages to sleep.

***

"Are we gonna have sex when we do it?" Mark asks the next morning, at breakfast.

Eduardo looks up from a bowl of Cheerios. "When we bond?"

Mark nods. "That's what people usually do, right? You're supposed to mark someone while they come." He stares down at his spoon. "Otherwise it hurts," he says. He knows that from experience.

"I guess that's... yeah, that's how they do it in the movies, at least," says Eduardo. He frowns at Mark. "Do you want to have sex?"

"Yeah, it's fine," shrugs Mark, trying to ignore the way his breathing gets tight at the thought, the way he suddenly feels like he might puke. "I think it's better that way."

"Are you sure?"

Mark imagines lying in bed, Eduardo on top of him, inside him, filling him up. It's— it's not a bad thought, really, until suddenly it is: until suddenly it's not Eduardo on top of him but someone else, and Mark's lying on the ground of an alley, vulnerable and spread open and in pain, being called a bitch and a whore and—

Mark squeezes his eyes shut, tight, and shakes his head miserably.

"You're not sure?" Eduardo prompts gently.

"No," Mark says in a strangled voice. His breathing is ragged. "I don't. Um. Want to. Wardo—"

Because shit. It turns out that maybe it sort of fucks you up, experiencing violence and abuse for six months straight, selling sex to people who barely view you as human, getting violated and impregnated against your will; who would have thought?

Eduardo just scoots his chair closer to Mark and leans in, hugs him tightly.

Mark hugs back, inhales Wardo's warm scent of spices and safety. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't be sorry," Wardo tells him. "It's okay. We don't need to have sex."

"It'll hurt," Mark mutters into Wardo's shoulder. "I've felt what it's like to be marked when you're not in the middle of an orgasm and it's pretty bad."

Eduardo is stroking his hair. "I don't mind," he says softly. "It'll be worth it, Mark, to be bonded to you." There's a pause. "Okay?"

"Okay," whispers Mark. "Thank you."

Eduardo lifts his face from Mark's shoulder and gazes at him fondly for a moment, his eyes large and wet. "I love you," is all he says.

And they kiss.

***

Eduardo does research on Google that afternoon, and Mark sits beside him on the couch and reads the search results over his shoulder.

_how to decease the pain of marking_, Eduardo looks up first. (Do it during sex, at the moment of orgasm.)

Unhelpful.

_tips for marking without sex_, he searches next. (Ice the mark before and after; distract yourself during the bite; masturbate to orgasm; get drunk but stay sober enough to consent.)

_does bonding while pregnant hurt the baby._ (Not at all, plus it eases labor. It also helps develop the relationship between the baby and the bonded partner.)

_what to do after bonding._ (Have your partner lick the wound; bandage the mark; wait 72 hours for the mark to take, then go to the courthouse to get a cheek swab and register with the government as bonded.)

"Let's do it tonight," says Mark, decisively, looking up from the computer screen.

"Really?"

"Yeah, as long as—" Mark hesitates for a moment. "You'd be the alpha on the birth certificate, if we were bonded," he says then. "I mean we'd have to request a paternity test if you didn't want to be legally responsible."

"Why wouldn't I want to be responsible?" Eduardo asks, frowning.

"I don't know," says Mark. "But I just. I need you to be sure."

"I'm sure," says Eduardo. "Mark, Jesus, of course I'm sure." 

"Okay," Mark says, satisfied. "Then I am too."

Eduardo scents his wrist. "Tonight," he says.

Mark nods and scents him back.

"Tonight."

***

They take the Internet's advice and ice their necks beforehand. Then they retire to the bedroom and get in bed, lean back into the pillows. Mark pulls off his hoodie and tosses it to the ground, and Eduardo stares at the freshly-exposed skin of his torso so raptly that it makes Mark flush.

"Can I touch you?" Wardo asks.

Mark nods.

Eduardo feels Mark's stomach first, places his hands gently on the bare bump. He holds them there for a while, then smiles, and trails his fingers down Mark's sides. It tickles.

Mark leans over and kisses him, wantonly, until Eduardo gets on top of him and kisses back, his hands firm on Mark's shoulders. Then they pull apart, only for Eduardo to lean in again and kiss Mark's jaw, first one side, then the other.

"Jesus, Mark, you're fucking beautiful," he whispers, ghosting Mark's lips with his thumb.

Mark mainly feels swollen up like a balloon, but he smiles.

For a while, Eduardo just gazes at him. Then he touches Mark's scent gland. It's more sensitive than the rest of Mark's neck, and the contact sends a shiver up his spine. 

Eduardo caresses the area for a while, then he presses his lips to it, licks it, sucks on it. And fuck, Mark feels it in his dick, which is— interesting, because he hasn't felt aroused since he got pregnant, either because of the pregnancy or the rape, he's not sure which. Maybe both.

"Fuck, Eduardo," he says softly.

"Are you okay?" asks Wardo.

"Yeah, I'm— yeah." Mark raises his chin so his neck is more fully exposed. "Keep going."

So Eduardo keeps sucking, and by now Mark has started leaking slick, which Eduardo can probably smell, but Mark doesn't care.

"Eduardo," Mark says then, "do it."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

Mark nods. "Please," he says, desperate. "Wardo—"

Wardo bites him.

And okay, yeah, it hurts, but it also feels incredible, like fire shooting through his veins, like flying in a dream, like coming home.

He moans, tensing up, his body alive with the feeling of Wardo's mark traveling through him.

It's nothing like the other times he's been marked, which were just— well, pain: the excruciating pain of being bitten, combined with the uncomfortable sensation of his insides being electrocuted, twisted, charred up and spit out.

But with Wardo, it's different, it's perfect, it's everything he's ever wanted.

Eduardo is licking him now on the mark, talking to him soothingly, but Mark can't make out the words. He just lies there, his eyes closed lightly, reveling in the feeling of being claimed, being Eduardo's.

Eduardo kisses his cheek, and at last Mark opens his eyes.

"You okay?" asks Eduardo, looking mildly concerned.

Mark blinks hazily. "I'm great. It's great. I'm— I want to do you too."

Eduardo nods.

So Mark sits up, pushes Wardo down against the pillows, and begins to unbutton his shirt.

Eduardo smiles, wriggles out of the sleeves, and lifts up his chin. Mark reaches out and touches his neck— warm and bronze and kind of perfect. He runs a finger down the tendon sticking out.

"Can I?" he asks.

Wardo shivers. "Yes," he says. "Fuck, yes, do it."

Mark puts his hands on Wardo's chest and leans in, gently kissing the sensitive spot on his neck. "Okay," he says. Then he takes the skin between his teeth and bites, bites till he tastes blood. And just like that, the bond bursts to life.

Eduardo cries out, and Mark collapses against him, kisses him, holds him tight. Eduardo clutches him back.

And Wardo's scent is all Mark can smell, stronger than he's ever smelled it before, like the smell is inside him, in his own chest, in his own lungs, pulsing and alive and _his_.

"Fuck," breathes Mark. "Wardo."

And Wardo is crying, and suddenly so is Mark.

The baby moves, and Mark quickly grabs Eduardo's hand and presses it to his stomach. "He's awake," he says. "I bet he can feel the bond."

Eduardo smiles. "I hope so," he says, through tears, his hand on Mark's belly as the baby continues to shift. "Because it feels fucking amazing."

Mark nods, and nuzzles Wardo, and they lie there for God knows how long, just relishing being together.

And bonded.

And whole, Mark thinks.

For the first time in his life, he feels whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! i really hope you liked this chapter; leave a comment if you did! :)
> 
> p.s. i'm not sure if there'll end up being 10 chapters or 11. probably 11, tbh, but i won't know till i write #10. either way, see you soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** referenced child abuse

The marks take.

The tissue of a scent gland heals differently than normal skin, and a rejected mark will fade away without leaving a scar.

But Eduardo's bite doesn't fade. 

Mark had known it wouldn't, but he still checks it obsessively in the mirror, watches with interest over the course of three days as it heals from bruised and red to a smooth, raised mark, significantly paler than the rest of his neck.

***

On the fourth day, they officially register as bonded, and are issued their certificate of bonding. Eduardo kisses Mark in the middle of the courthouse, for everyone to see.

And Mark clutches the certificate, smells himself on Eduardo's skin, and kisses him back, hard.

***

January ends, and Mark is 34 weeks pregnant.

He starts reading Eduardo's parenting books while Eduardo is at class. The more he reads, the more he begins to feel something like panic.

He thinks about his own parents, late at night, when he's trying to sleep. He remembers the photos he's seen of them holding him at the hospital after he was born. They'd looked happy. 

He wonders when that had changed, when they'd gotten sick of him. Maybe when he'd started walking. Or talking. Definitely before he'd started kindergarten.

The thing is, he doesn't believe they'd set out to be shitty parents, which is— kind of terrifying. In fact, he's pretty sure they'd been trying their best, except they'd been ignorant and overworked and their best hadn't been that great. Hadn't been great at all.

***

"Wardo," Mark says one night, elbowing Eduardo in the side.

Eduardo shifts in bed. "Hmm?"

"Do you think I'll be a bad father?" Mark asks into the darkness.

He hears Eduardo scramble to sit up in bed. "What? No," he says, sounding stricken. "Mark, of course not. Why would I ever think that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Mark replies. "It's not like I have experience raising babies. Or dealing with kids."

Eduardo reaches down and cards his fingers through Mark's hair. "Neither do I, but we'll figure it out," he says. "First-time parents always figure it out somehow, right?"

"My parents never did," says Mark. He pauses. "I mean, they managed to keep me alive, but. I think they hated me."

Eduardo says nothing, just keeps running his fingers through Mark's hair. It feels good.

"We didn't have much money," Mark goes on. "And kids are expensive. They never let me forget that."

"That wasn't your fault," says Eduardo. "Jesus, you can't make a kid feel bad for costing money; that isn't fair at all."

Mark shrugs in the dark. "Well, I was also a difficult kid, in general," he says. "I talked back a lot. I never respected them. I knew I was smarter than they were, so." Mark hesitates for a moment. "Wardo, if he— the baby. If he talked back to you, what would you do?" he asks then.

"I guess it depends on what he said."

"What if he wanted new shoes and you said no and then he proceeded to nag you all day about how he really needed them?"

"Then I'd buy him new shoes."

"Okay, but what if you couldn't afford new shoes, and he was being really fucking annoying?"

"Mark," Eduardo says slowly. "I wouldn't hurt him or something, if that's what you're asking."

Mark feels a prick of relief.

"Did... your parents hurt you?" Eduardo asks then, very quietly.

"No," says Mark. "I mean, they hit me sometimes, but not, like, hard, or anything. It's— they were always really stressed, trying to make ends meet or whatever, and their marriage wasn't great, and then when you add a kid being a pain in the ass on top of all that, I mean." Mark swallows. "I don't really blame them."

"Fuck that," says Eduardo. "There's no excuse for hitting your child."

"Wait, I wouldn't— I wouldn't hit the baby," Mark says quickly. "I didn't mean— Fuck, Wardo, I swear, I would never—"

"No, I know, Mark," Eduardo tells him. "Don't worry."

"But still, I kind of understand, like—"

"Mark—"

Mark cuts him off. "Your parents seriously never—? Not even your dad?"

"No," says Eduardo. "They didn't. My father's a piece of shit," he sighs, "but only, you know. Verbally. And emotionally."

"But I bet you were a good kid."

"Mark, Jesus Christ, stop with this good kid versus bad kid thing. You weren't a bad kid, okay? Who cares if you talked back sometimes? All kids do that. All kids are annoying; it's part of being a kid. It wasn't your fault. Your parents were just jerks."

Mark feels tears welling in his eyes. He blinks, and they roll down his cheeks.

"And aren't these the same people who disowned you for being an omega?" Eduardo adds suddenly, a hint of alpha in his voice. "Like, Jesus Christ, at this point, they really don't deserve to have excuses made for them."

"Yeah," Mark mutters. "You're right."

Wardo touches Mark's face, and if he feels the tears there, he doesn't mention it. "I used to blame myself, too," he says. "For the way my father treated me. I blamed myself for most of my life. But then I realized— he was the one with the problem, not me."

Mark curls toward him. "My shoes were too small," he admits then. "They hurt my feet. That's the only reason I wanted new ones."

There's a moment of fragile silence. "Mark, come here, sit up," Eduardo says at last, softly, and Mark does.

Eduardo puts his arms around Mark's shoulders, pulls him close. Then he scents his neck, and the scenting feels— different, now that they're fully bonded. Eduardo's warmth surrounds Mark fully, flows inside him, throbs in his chest. And suddenly all he can see and hear and taste and feel is Eduardo's scent: spices, home, safety, everything good in the world.

Mark stops crying.

"We won't be like our parents, okay?" Eduardo says firmly, rubbing Mark's back. "We'll treat our son so well. And we'll love him so much. We'll never make him feel bad for being who he is, never treat him like a burden, never hurt him. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because. I just do."

Mark breathes in Wardo's scent and nods. "Okay," he says, strangely reassured. "Wardo—"

"What?"

"I love you," mumbles Mark. It's the first time he's said it.

"I love you too," says Wardo.

And they kiss, and the baby wiggles.

Mark smiles. "He moved," he tells Wardo, who touches Mark's stomach as the baby squirms again.

"Aww, he feels left out," Wardo says.

"He's a fetus; I don't think he cares."

Eduardo ignores this, and presses his lips to the swell of Mark's belly. "Don't worry, I love you too," he whispers.

_So do I_, Mark thinks immediately. He strokes the bump with his thumb, and his eyes start to sting, and he decides to say it out loud. "So do I," he tells the baby.

Eduardo kisses Mark's nose. "He can hear us," he says. "His hearing is fully developed this week."

"I know. I've read your books."

Eduardo laughs, and they kiss again, and lie back down together in bed.

Mark nuzzles Eduardo's shoulder, and smells something, something strong but soft at the same time. It's Eduardo's scent, still spices and baking and warmth, but it smells like something else too.

Like love, Mark thinks drowsily, not even caring if that makes sense. Eduardo smells like love.

And Mark buries his face in the scent, and puts a hand on his stomach, and wonders if the baby can smell it too. It's so fucking strong that Mark thinks he probably can.

Mark smiles at the thought. And soon he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed; sorry this chapter is short. (also, who am i kidding, this will probably be 12 chapters in all)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** depiction of childbirth in a hospital (not graphic or anything), vague mention of pregnancy complications which do not come to pass

By mid-February, they're finished shopping for the baby. They have a crib and a car seat and a stroller. They have a baby monitor and a rocking chair and a bathtub. They have sleepers and onesies and million different blankets for a million different purposes, along with bibs and socks and little knit caps; toys and books and bottles and pacifiers; first aid supplies and cleaning supplies and diaper supplies. Their bedroom looks like Babies R Us vomited inside of it.

Mark's omega nesting instinct was repressed almost into oblivion while he was homeless, but it's starting to surface again. He gets the crib ready for a baby, with a mattress pad and a waterproof liner and a soft cotton sheet. He hangs up all the little baby clothes in the closet. He packs his hospital bag.

Mark is 37 weeks pregnant, and it feels good to finally nest, to _have_ somewhere to nest, somewhere safe for the baby to come home to.

(Somewhere safe for _Mark_ to come home to.)

(And some_one_ safe, too.)

***

It's late in the evening, and Eduardo is sitting on one end of the couch while Mark is lying across the whole thing, some pillows behind his aching back and his legs resting on Eduardo's thighs.

They're both reading: Eduardo is flipping through a pamphlet about newborns and Mark is perusing a book of baby names.

Most names are awful, he's decided, but—

"What about Oliver?" he asks, midway through the section on names of Latin origin.

"Oliver," echoes Eduardo. "I love it, actually," he says, smiling softly. "And we could call him Ollie," he adds. "Baby Ollie."

"No, not Ollie. Oliver." Mark frowns. "Ollie sounds stupid."

Eduardo's smile grows. "I'm gonna call him Ollie and so are you," he says, sounding amused. "You'll see."

"_Oliver_," Mark repeats, but he's smiling too; he can't help it.

It's strange, to think of how fast things change. It's been nine months since he presented, eight since he got pregnant, three since he met Eduardo. And in less than one, he'll have a baby.

It terrifies him sometimes, to ponder. 

But mostly it excites him.

***

A few days later, Eduardo suggests Felix for Oliver's middle name.

"I saw it was Latin, and I know you like Latin. And it means—"

"Lucky."

"Yeah, exactly. And I think he's a pretty lucky kid, to have you as his dad," says Eduardo, nudging Mark's arm.

Mark snorts. "He's lucky I didn't go into preterm labor on the streets and give birth to a malnourished stillborn baby," he says. "Which I probably would have, eventually, if you hadn't found me when you did."

Eduardo frowns at that, his eyes soft and sad. "Mark, Jesus..." he says.

"I like Felix though," Mark tells him, uninterested in Eduardo's sympathy. "Oliver Felix Saverin-Zuckerberg."

"Saverin-Zuckerberg?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna hyphenate it."

Eduardo blinks at Mark, then smiles. "Thank you," he says quietly.

Mark shrugs. It never even occurred to him not to do it.

Then Eduardo steps forward and places his hands on Mark's stomach. "Oliver Felix," he says, with solemnity. "I can't wait to meet you."

And Mark tries to roll his eyes. 

He ends up crying instead.

***

It's late February.

Eduardo is out at his economics lecture and Mark is sitting at home at the dining table, reading a book about the first year of a baby's life, when he reads something disturbing: for the first couple hours after birth, a baby smells like its parents.

Mark gets out his laptop.

_who will my baby smell like at birth if i'm not bonded to the alpha father_, he Googles. (The most comprehensive answer: 1) Primarily, and sometimes exclusively, a baby will smell like the parent who gives birth. 2) If the birthing parent is bonded to someone other than the baby's other biological parent, the baby may have a secondary scent of a) its other biological parent, b) its birthing parent's bonded partner, or c) both.)

Which is not entirely reassuring.

He does some more Googling, scans the results, sees an article titled "My Baby Smelled Like My Rapist," and reaches for his cell phone before he even realizes what he's doing. He calls Eduardo, not caring that he's in class. And it rings, and rings, and—

"Are you okay? Are you in labor?" asks Eduardo, the second he answers the phone.

"No, I'm fine, I just..."

"What's wrong?"

Mark inhales deeply. "Nothing," he says, and then, in a rush: "Wardo, have you heard that babies smell like their parents when they're born?" he asks.

"Yeah," Eduardo says slowly.

"Okay, well I don't want Oliver to smell like him," says Mark. "Wardo, fuck, he _can't_ smell like him, he fucking can't."

"Shit, I didn't think of that," says Eduardo, quietly. "Shit. But maybe— fuck, are there exceptions? I mean, I know I only smelled like my mom when I was born, so obviously sometimes—"

"Yeah," says Mark, trying not to cry, "I looked it up, and it said that he might just smell like me; that's a possibility. Or since you and I are bonded, he might smell like you instead, or like you _and_ the alpha, but Wardo—"

And now he's crying.

"It'll be okay," says Eduardo. "It's only for a few hours, then the smell goes away, right? We'll handle it, Mark, I promise. It's okay."

"I won't be able to hold him," Mark chokes out. "Wardo, I want to hold him."

"You'll hold him," Eduardo says firmly. "I bet he'll just smell like you. Or like me and you. And if he doesn't— we'll do research; there has to be something we can do, to mask the smell. Like, I'll scent you, and I'll scent him; that'll probably help..."

Mark just nods.

"Mark? Did you hear me?"

"Yes," Mark hiccups. "But— Wardo, what if he looks like him too?" he whispers then, finally voicing something he's been worrying about for weeks.

"It wouldn't matter, Mark. We'd love him the same."

"I wish he could look like you."

"He'll be beautiful, no matter what he looks like. You'll see." Eduardo pauses. "I'm on my way home, okay? I'm not far."

"You have class."

"You're more important than class."

Mark sniffs, and wipes his eyes. 

They stay on the phone until Eduardo comes through the door ten minutes later. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't say anything, just takes Mark in his arms and scents him deeply.

"I'm scared," says Mark.

"I know," Eduardo murmurs. "But it's gonna be fine."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true."

Which is bullshit; Eduardo is smart, but he isn't psychic. 

But Mark nods anyway. "Okay," he says.

And they kiss until Mark stops crying.

***

***

***

Mark goes into labor on March 8th, and the initial phase lasts for a full day. It's not really uncomfortable, just weird. Eduardo skips class to stay with him, of course, and ministers to his every need. Mark doesn't bother protesting.

Gradually the contractions get stronger, more painful, closer together.

So they drive to the hospital, where Mark's water breaks. The pain grows more intense, but all Mark can think is how glad he is to be giving birth in a hospital surrounded by professionals, instead of alone on the fucking streets.

Eduardo holds his hand and constantly asks if he's okay, makes him drink water, tells him he's doing great.

Seven hours later, Mark begins to push.

And thirty minutes after that, he has a baby.

A tiny, perfect, healthy baby, who is placed on Mark's chest and lies there, curled in his arms, sleeping.

He smells like Eduardo.

"Hi," says Mark. "Hi, Oliver." He cries, and kisses his head. Eduardo holds Mark's shoulder.

Some time passes— maybe just minutes, but it feels like longer— and someone gives Oliver a blanket and a small yellow cap. The doctor clamps his umbilical cord and Eduardo cuts it off.

"He smells like you do," Mark tells Wardo.

Wardo smiles. "He smells like you too," he says, sitting back down by the bed.

They scent each other's wrists, and the baby's wrists, and stay there like that for a long time— Oliver on Mark's bare chest and Eduardo seated nearby, touching them both gently, talking to them soothingly. 

"I love you," Eduardo tells Oliver, through tears, again and again. He takes Oliver's hand, and Mark stares at it, at that tiny little baby hand held safe in Eduardo's big one.

And Mark smiles, and cries, and it feels like his heart might actually explode.

***

Eventually they clean the baby and give him to Eduardo, and Mark watches happily as Eduardo stares down at Oliver's little face.

"He looks just like you, Mark," says Eduardo.

"He looks like a potato."

"He's beautiful."

Mark smiles. "I know."

Suddenly Eduardo looks up from the baby. "Mark, I'm so fucking proud of you," he says.

"For what?"

"For everything."

Mark doesn't know how to respond.

"And I love you so much," Wardo adds.

And _that_, Mark can respond to. "I love you too," he says.

He watches as Wardo kisses Oliver's head, and Oliver squirms, and suddenly Mark is laughing and crying at the same time, which seems like it's becoming a common occurrence.

He thinks of himself a few months ago— homeless and scared and completely fucking alone, but sometimes, in his weaker moments, letting himself cling to the ridiculous hope that maybe he and the baby would end up okay.

He wishes he could go back and tell himself that soon they would be so much more than okay: that they'd be safe, and warm, and healthy, with a place to live and food to eat and _Wardo_.

He wipes his eyes, and Wardo smiles at him, bouncing Oliver gently in his arms.

And in that moment, Mark can't think of a single thing wrong in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! :D leave a comment to welcome baby oliver lol
> 
> see you next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings:** reference to rape; sexual content

They bring Oliver Felix Saverin-Zuckerberg (born March 9, 2005 at 7:09 PM and weighing 6 pounds, 4 ounces) home the next day. 

***

The first month of fatherhood is a blur of sleepless nights, of changing and feeding and rocking. Mark is exhausted, of course, and he knows Eduardo is too.

But Oliver is a pretty easy baby, to be honest. He only really cries when he's hungry or needs his diaper changed, which are both, in Mark's opinion, extremely valid reasons to cry.

***

Mark, on the other hand, cries at everything. 

He cries the first time he sees Oliver smile— a real smile, not just a reflexive newborn one.

He cries when Oliver turns two months old and Eduardo graduates from Harvard.

And often he cries for no real reason at all, except that he's so fucking grateful, and happy, and in love.

***

But he still gets nightmares. He cries at those too, usually— hard enough that Eduardo hears and wakes him up.

Sometimes though, like tonight, he wakes up on his own, breathing hard and drenched in sweat. Eduardo is still asleep beside him, oblivious, and Mark doesn't want to bother him.

So he gets up, goes to Oliver's crib, and gently lifts him out. Then, holding Oliver's tiny, warm body to his chest, he slips back into bed.

"Your dad's an idiot, did you know that?" he whispers softly, stroking Oliver's cheek. "He gets these bad dreams, about stuff that isn't relevant to his life anymore. Or about stuff that could never even logically happen, so it doesn't make any sense to dream about it. But he still does."

Oliver coos and moves his little legs against Mark's stomach.

"I know, right?" Mark whispers. He kisses Oliver's head. "How stupid can he be, to still get so fucking scared, even though he's safe now with you and Papai, and—" Mark sniffs, wiping his eyes. "Fuck," he mutters.

Oliver shifts, and makes a small noise of distress, like he can tell that Mark is unhappy.

"Hey, Wardo?" says Mark into the darkness. Then louder: "Wardo."

Eduardo rolls over. "Mark? You okay?"

Mark clutches Oliver a bit closer and takes a deep, steadying breath. "Why do I still dream about him?" he asks.

"About— who, the alpha?"

"Yeah," says Mark. He sighs. "I— I dreamed that he was here, that he was looking for Oliver. And you weren't around, I was by myself, and I tried to fight him off, but I couldn't." He swallows. "Wardo, he took him away. I couldn't stop him."

Just then Oliver starts crying, and Mark realizes how tightly he'd been holding him.

"Shit," he says. "Shit, Wardo, I was squeezing him—"

"It's okay," says Eduardo, gently prying the baby from Mark's arms. "He's okay; aren't you, Ollie?" Oliver quiets down right away, but Eduardo goes on speaking to him soothingly: "That's right, you're okay. And Daddy's okay too, don't worry; he just had a scary dream."

He puts an arm around Mark and pulls him closer, scents his neck. Mark rests his head on Wardo's shoulder.

"No one's gonna take him from us," says Eduardo. "Ever."

"I know," mutters Mark. "I'm being stupid."

"No, you're not being stupid," Wardo says firmly. "You're being a worried dad who's been through a lot of traumatic shit." Oliver makes a small sound. "Aw, I think he wants you," Eduardo says, placing the baby gently back on Mark's chest.

Mark holds him, strokes his tiny downy curls. "The alpha doesn't know he exists," he says. "He doesn't even know my name. Shit, he's probably forgotten about the incident entirely." He huffs. "Why can't I forget about it too?"

Eduardo settles a hand on Mark's shoulder. "I wish you could," he murmurs. Then he leans in and kisses him.

And Mark breathes in Eduardo's scent, lets it fill his lungs and travel through his body, strong and warm and protective.

"I love you," Mark says, as they pull apart.

Eduardo touches his cheek. "I love you too."

They sit there in silence for a while.

At last, wordlessly, Mark gets up, returns Oliver to his crib, and climbs back into bed. He curls up with his face against Eduardo's chest.

"I don't really know what to say," Eduardo whispers, running his finger through Mark's hair, down his cheek, along the rim of his ear. "But you're safe, okay? And Oliver's safe. No one's gonna hurt you; I won't let them."

"I know," Mark says. And he does.

They kiss again.

And eventually, Mark drifts back off to sleep.

***

***

Oliver's first word is "Dada," and Mark and Eduardo are both there to hear it.

Eduardo turns to stare at Mark, his mouth agape. "Mark! He said your name!"

Mark shrugs. "He's just babbling," he says dismissively. "It's not like he associates me with the sounds he's making. Not yet. It's not a big deal."

(But a week later, when Oliver says "Papa" while Eduardo holds him in his arms, Mark cries.)

***

***

Mark's been on heat suppressants for seven months now, the expensive kind, which have no side-effects except an alleged decrease in libido.

Mark does not experience said decrease.

***

"Wardo, do I turn you on?" he asks one afternoon as they eat lunch.

"Um." Eduardo blushes, fidgets, blatantly avoiding Mark's eye. "I don't know. I mean, ever since you gave birth, your smell's been..." He shakes his head. "But no, it's fine, I just jerk off in the bathroom, and—"

"You turn me on too," says Mark simply.

Wardo looks up, frowning.

"So I wanted to know if you're interested in having sex," Mark goes on.

"But—" Eduardo stares. "You said you didn't want to."

"I guess I changed my mind," shrugs Mark.

"Are you sure?" asks Wardo. "I'd never— Not unless you're sure you want it, like absolutely sure—"

Mark shrugs again. "I'm very sure I want it," he says. "I mean, there's always a chance I'll freak out halfway through or something, but—"

"Then I'll stop," says Wardo quickly.

"I know," says Mark. "I trust you." He pauses, then gets up and kisses Wardo softly. "I think that's why I want it."

***

Eduardo is slow at first, slow and gentle, but Mark begs him for more, harder, deeper. 

So Eduardo gives Mark more, gives Mark everything he wants, and in the end they both come, tangled together and smiling at each other.

***

***

"Do you ever think about going back to college?" asks Eduardo one morning in October. They're eating breakfast on the couch.

"I'm an omega," says Mark, taking a bite of Cheerios.

"There are colleges that accept omegas. Stanford—"

"They don't give them scholarships," Mark cuts him off.

Eduardo shrugs. "I could pay," he says quietly.

"That's a lot of money."

"I _have_ a lot of money," Eduardo points out, with another little shrug.

Mark frowns down at the last few Cheerios floating in his bowl. "Okay, but you shouldn't always have to pay for me," he says. "You've already given me a fuckload of expensive shit that I honestly don't deserve, and—"

"Okay, well, you gave me Oliver, who's, like. Fucking priceless," Wardo says. "So I'm pretty sure I could buy you a thousand laptops and college educations and still be in your debt." He nudges Mark's shoulder. "Think about it, okay?"

"I'll think about it," Mark mutters.

"Good," says Eduardo, smiling. And they kiss.

***

***

Oliver turns eight months old. He can crawl now, and he's eating some solid foods. 

He's starting to act and look more like a small person than a humanoid larva, to Mark's satisfaction. He has Mark's hair and ears and lips. But Mark's eyes are blue, and Oliver's are warm and brown— Eduardo's eyes.

(_The alpha's eyes_, thinks some logical part of Mark, but he rejects the thought. As far as Mark is concerned, they're Eduardo's eyes.)

***

And yet—

"We'll have to tell him, won't we?" Mark says to Wardo one evening. They're seated together on the couch, both on their laptops: Mark is coding and Eduardo is charting weather patterns or something. Oliver is napping in the bedroom.

Eduardo glances up at the question. "Tell him what?"

"That you're not really his father."

"Oh." Eduardo frowns, lowers his eyes. Suddenly Mark wishes he hadn't been so blunt.

"I just don't want to lie to him," he says, softening his voice. "Like, of course you're his _father_— you're the one raising him, you're the one on his birth certificate. He smelled like you when he was born, for God's sake. But, like—"

"No, I get it," says Eduardo, looking up with a sad little smile. "He deserves to know."

"Yeah," says Mark. "But then again, it seems pretty fucked up to tell a little kid that he's a product of rape."

Eduardo gives Mark a look. "We wouldn't tell him like that."

"Then how would we tell him?"

"I don't know," says Eduardo. "But we'll figure it out, okay?"

Mark stares at Wardo for a long moment, then sighs, and goes back to coding. "Okay."

***

That night, as they lie in bed, Eduardo clears his throat and touches Mark's hand. "Mark," he says solemnly.

"What?"

"We'll tell him in a way he can understand, alright?" says Eduardo. 

"What are you talking about?" asks Mark.

"About Ollie. And telling him about— about the alpha."

"Oh." Mark's stomach twists a little, but Eduardo scents his wrist. 

"We'll emphasize that we're still his parents, no matter what, and that we love him so fucking much." Wardo sits up a little, buries his fingers in Mark's hair. "We'll make sure he knows that that's what matters," he says, and they kiss.

And Mark nods, because Wardo is right: that's what matters. That's all that matters.

They love each other, and they love Oliver, and they always will. 

***

They snuggle up together, and fall asleep with their arms intertwined.

And for once, Mark dreams of the future, not the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading this fic! it was so fun to write. i really hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> please leave me a comment to let me know your thoughts; it would mean the world to me. :)


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